"Cormac Brown" is my pen name. I'm an up-and-slumming writer in the city of Saint Francis and I'm following in the footsteps of Hammett...minus the TB and working for the Pinkerton Agency. A couple of stories that I've stiched and stapled together, can be found here.

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Sunday, December 23, 2007

Mistletoe

If you don't play the game, you will always lose, but if you do play? You can have it all.

Linda bet the house. The apartment, actually. She had dated and dumped Seth a couple of years ago and in the interim, her roommate Faith, developed a little bit of a crush on him. Faith acted upon that crush with Linda's reluctant blessing and then she went to work on getting Seth's attention.

Remembering her former relationship to be something better than it actually was, Linda changed her mind and decided that if Seth was going out with someone, it should be her and not Faith. Their previous hellish relationship and lack of compatibility be damned. She used everything in her repertoire, from physically putting herself between the would-be couple every time they grew close, to lacing Faith's food with an herb that has a laxative effect. She even feigned illness.

She even flung herself outright at Seth and he rejected her. So love triumphs all...or at least over Linda's efforts. Seth chose Faith over her and Linda moved out, losing her roommate, the apartment that Faith and Linda shared, and even Seth. She couldn't decide which hurt worse: losing two of her closest friends, losing Seth to Faith or losing out on that apartment with its ridiculously below market rent.

Linda called in sick at work and cried herself to sleep the rest of the day. She woke up the next day and figured that shopping was the best therapy, and called in sick again. She came home with four bags full of things that she really didn't want in the first place, which forced her to be civil to her mother (because she knew there was no way in the world that she would be able to pay that credit card bill all by herself) and Linda still felt empty.

The third day, Linda called in sick yet again because she had decided that going on the rebound would be the cure all to all of this misery. Though Linda was petite and not exactly what one would call "curvy," she had other weapons in her arsenal of attraction. She made sure her hair was perfectly coiffed, that her clothes and makeup were tasteful, but accentuating the right things in just the right way to get attention. Linda even chose a subtle pink toenail polish to go with her open-toed high heels.

What she didn't count on was that the kind of heels that attract men, aren't the kind of heels that you can walk around in for more that five blocks. With just about everything below the middle of her spine, sore, she retreated into the type of bar and grill that she wouldn't have frequented in a million years.

She wanted to ask the bartender for a glass of water, but he was too busy watching some cheerleader competition on TV and polishing glasses in a way that would've made even Larry Flynt uneasy. As she went towards the tables in the hope that she could at least get a waiter's attention, she saw him.

He was the male version of her.

She could tell that he spent as much effort and dedication on his hair as she did. His nails were manicured, just like hers. His clothing was just like hers, in the vein of "tastefully easy." His watch was understated, yet expensive, just like hers. He was the male version of her and that meant in Linda's mind, he was perfect.

He hadn't noticed her yet, because he seemed to be too engrossed in a magazine, while he lazily cut his food and ate it. Linda walked up to his table, picked up a sprig of parsley and held it over his head. He put his fork and knife down, and then he took a long sip of water.

When he put his glass back down, he finally noticed Linda.

Then his eyes followed her arm and he saw the parsley, and then they returned back to her.

"Hi."

"Hello."

"What's that?"

"It's mistletoe."

"It kind of looks like parsley."

"It's mistletoe."

"But it's July" he countered.

Linda smirked and gave a slight shrug.

"Works for me," he said as he stood up and gave her a long and languid kiss.

A sweet kiss.

A strong kiss.

Hell, she didn't even care about the garlic and amazingly just like that, they lived happily ever after...

...until she found that he was a Socialist. Then they lived happily ever after, except for when they argued about politics or when he left his socks on the floor.

Thanks. The Missus doesn't care about the socks and that's why I married her.

Quin,

The restaurant and the last few lines of dialogue were something that I stitched together at the last second, when I submitted my indie script. I figured that if a script reader read the first five pages and the last five, that it would sell it better...guess not.

A-hem!

About Me

"Cormac Brown" is my pen name. I'm an up-and-slumming writer in the city of Saint Francis, and I'm following in the footsteps of Hammett...minus the TB and working for the Pinkerton Agency. I've had stories posted on Flashing In the Gutters, Powder Burn Flash, Six Sentences, Astonishing Adventures Magazine, Crooked Magazine, Beat To A Pulp, Needle Magazine, and Dark Valentine Magazine.